


Monkey Business

by KarlyAnne



Series: Tumblr Gift Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU - Drag Queens, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, Background Case, Crack, Ficlet, Humor, Lingerie, Love at First Sight, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6967387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarlyAnne/pseuds/KarlyAnne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All around him were long-legged beings, clad in the tiniest pieces of fabric, heroically attempting their herculean task of trying to keep their private bits covered. Some were quite androgynous, some more feminine than any of John’s ex-girlfriends. A few were quite beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkey Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shahrazaad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shahrazaad/gifts).



> About nine months ago, I promised Johnlockandwifi a gift ficlet.  
> I had the best intentions of writing it quite quickly, but the reply from my school has always been something along the lines of, “For the last time, no, you can’t get an extension for your PhD assignments deadlines to write fic!”
> 
> Johnlockandwifi asked for:  
> "if it’s no bother, could you do a little love at first sight? that maybe ends up in heated snogging? could be femlock or not, or any au, or idk maybe you don’t like aus then just ignore this..."
> 
> As the one who is lucky enough to beta CWB's Emperor Tales of the Frozen South, I don't think I can ever claim I don't like AUs...
> 
> I decided to go with Sherlock in something pretty yet unique, and thought, "Hey, why think hard, I'll just copy reality." Thus, I based Sherlock's lingerie on a gift I received for my last birthday. There's a link to it in the end notes.  
>   
> Being Chinese year of the monkey, it is all the more fitting…  
>   
> Thank you for the beta, CWB.  
>   
> Thank you, PurpleHairedTree for your merciless beta, too. Much cake for you.  
>   
> Johnlockandwifi, hope you enjoy!  
> 

 

"Remind me again why we're here?"

"You wanted a pint, and I wanted to check up on this undercover bloke."

"One of your cops is here?"

"Not exactly a cop.”

John looked at Lestrade with mild concern. As a rule, Lestrade was a great guy. One you could have a great time with over a pint, and who was always available to move a couch when your girlfriend dumped you and you needed to evacuate your former residence ASAP.

Which was actually how John ended up here. True, only half the job was done, since said couch had only made it as far as a storage unit – as John had yet to secure a new residence. The whole ordeal had concluded in mild relief, and John’s “I owe you one, Greg.”

John was nothing if not true to his word, and when asked to return the favour by joining tonight, said, “sure thing, mate,” and thought nothing of it.

It took approximately eight seconds for John to realize that this was not the kind of pub they’d normally go for. It would’ve taken him two, if not for the astounding amount of skin on display.

“This is a strip club.”

“Not exactly… it’s a… what did he call it… drag cabaret club.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Look around you, mate.”

John did.

All around him were long-legged beings, clad in the tiniest pieces of fabric, heroically attempting their herculean task of trying to keep their private bits covered. Some were quite androgynous, some more feminine than any of John’s ex-girlfriends. A few were quite beautiful.

“Apparently, they added the ‘cabaret’ because in many drag clubs they only lip-sync. Here, some of the blokes, I mean birds, sing, too. Not my guy though, the poor bastard sounds like a banshee. Lucky for him he’s easier on the eyes than on the ears.”

The lights dimmed.

“Ladies, gentleman, and everything in-between, have we got a show for you tonight!”

The flamboyant host introduced the first act – three Victorian looking queens who performed quite an elaborate, overly theatrical, lip-sync to a medley of Bizet’s Carmen.

A whimsical ballet performance followed, with a stand-up comedy/singing act, next up.

Then John’s gaze fixed on the next performer, waiting beside the main stage, and within a split second, his mouth has gone completely dry.

This magnificent creature was clad in a bra and panty set with thigh-high fishnets over legs that went on forever. Smoky eyes under a riot of dark curls, and an attitude that stuck out even in this carnival of extroversion. He was obviously a man – feminized, but not in a way which obscured his true sex – and seemed quite comfortable in his own skin and patterned blue lingerie.

It was an intriguing set, John had to admit, and fit very well with this mysterious stranger. Asymmetrical print of flowers and splashes of color in different shades of blue and orange, a play of lace and fabric. And when this rare beauty raised one hand to run through his hair, John craned his neck to see something that caught his eye on the sleek side of the long-line bra.

A fucking monkey.

An androgynous god with an edge, then.

“Our next act is a novice in our scene, but has the attitude of a seasoned veteran! She has no drag name, as she claims her name is already a girl’s name, though I swear on me gran’s grave, I’ve never heard it in me life before.

“Performing to Manila Luzon’s ‘Stuck on You,’ give it up to Sherlock!”

The music started playing.

Sherlock started moving.

John’s mouth fell open.

The patrons at the table behind his and Greg’s were chattering about the performance.

“Damn drag queens who don’t even bother to wear a wig. And he’s not even fully tucked! Are we supposed to believe that’s a woman?”

“Androgynous is the new sexy, apparently. The world has gone bonkers, I’m telling you.”

But John couldn’t care less. Sherlock was moving around the stage with grace and sensuality that John had been sure only existed in the disturbing fanfiction one of his ex-girlfriends had insisted on reading to him.

He was beautiful.

And had obviously done his homework, as his lips were in perfect sync with the lyrics, adding to the mesmerising effect.

And John could’ve sworn that when this creature of awe and magnificence reached the “fuck me like a melody” line, he looked him dead in the eyes.

John wasn’t entirely sure how one could be fucked like a melody, but he was completely certain that he’d fuck this gorgeous man, any way he found acceptable.

Sherlock continued to sway and twirl to the music, John following his every move.

Sherlock’s eyes were scanning the room, piercing through the audience from under long lashes. He ran his hands down his hips, ran one hand up his inner thigh, and over his deliciously not-quite-tucked crotch.

“That was it.”

“What was what?”

“Our cue.”

“Our… cue?”

“When he spotted the thief, we agreed he would fondle himself. Actually, no, we really didn’t agree. There’s been some back and forth about the actual gesture… But he insisted it would throw off the perpetrator for a bit. Off we go, then.”

Lestrade and John got up, making their way towards the back. In the background, the song ended, and the audience cheered.

“So, he pointed to the blonde over there, the one dressed as Hillary Clinton.”

“That’s a bit of an odd choice.”

“Apparently she’s quite popular in the community.”

They tried to be discreet but the stocky blonde noticed them, and bolted towards the dressing area.

“Bloody hell, where did he go?”

“No clue, mate. Go left. I’ll go right.”

They split, each running in an opposite direction, kicking doors open and peering into the rooms that made up the maze backstage.

Then John heard something, stopped, and listened. Muffled sounds came from behind the next door.

He pushed the handle and walked in.

And there he was, patent leather boots and cheap wig, and a SIG Sauer pointed at Sherlock’s head. His head, home to his mouth, which was producing quite elaborate tales, considering how close it was to the barrel of a gun.

“…and to think you deluded yourself that no one would notice you stuffed your bra with the other queens’ jewellery, honestly, your brain must be as spacious as your tuck. Really, why do you even bother tucking so meticulously, it’s not like there’s much down there to conceal.”

The ambitious tucker pushed the gun against Sherlock’s forehead.

John thought it would be a good time to intervene.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I beg to differ, shorty, I actually bloody well do.”

“It’s over, in a couple of seconds they’ll take you in.”

“Not if I kill you two, first.”

“I’m not sure if you’re fit to handle a piece of this calibre,” came from Sherlock’s direction.

“Maybe before I kill you, I can give you a taste of my calibre.”

“Oi,” was all cheap-wig heard before John’s left fist connected to his jaw, and the last thing he heard until the paramedics shook him back into consciousness. 

“Oh, excellent. If Graham is quite incompetent in person, at least he isn’t by proxy. Good thing he recognizes his shortcomings and brought you along.

“Now that the tedious business is out of the way, we could discuss more interesting matters, such as your need for an abode.

“Mine’s quite central, and far superior to your last residence. I play the violin when I am thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it. Shifted his weight and opened it once more.

“How could you possibly know I’m looking for a place to live?”

“Your shirt has been ironed using a different iron and board than usual, which means you are staying somewhere temporary, but you are obviously a Londoner, not merely here on vacation. You favour your good leg because sleeping on a pull-out sofa makes your back stiff, and you occasionally scratch yourself as Lestrade’s laundry detergent irritates your skin. I recognized the scent immediately.”

“Amazing…”

Sherlock gave him the most charming, lopsided, coy smile, then spun on his heels to face Lestrade, who just walked in the door. 

“Now, Graham, I assume you won’t require us for your usual tedious display of police inefficiency, so if you just take John’s statement in the most succinct fashion, we’ll be on our way.”

“How’d you know my name…?”

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled something about not bothering.

“Just come by the yard tomorrow to give your statement, will you, mate?”

John nodded, still puzzled, as Sherlock spun toward him and grabbed him by the arm.

“Come on, we can be at my place in twelve minutes, give or take five seconds. I’ll let you play with my monkey.”

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here's my monkey. There is no nudity in the photo. You probably see more skin on the street on a hot summer day.  
> But if there's one thing I've learned in this fandom, it's that if something exists, you will not have to work too hard to find a person who's triggered by it.  
> So, if the sight of human females causes you discomfort, don't click [here](http://ficordiearchive.tumblr.com/image/144926725299).
> 
> And here’s a link to Manila Luzon’s "[Stuck on You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ieij8koGJuU)."


End file.
